


Blossoming in Decay

by Dev14



Series: Fleeting Blossoms [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: And Angst is NSFW change my mind, Angst, Blood, ByaRen, Drama, Everyone is falling apart, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt, I guess this counts as an entry, I suppose, M/M, Rated M for some graphic non-sexual descriptions, Romance, Unrequited Love, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dev14/pseuds/Dev14
Summary: The cherry blossom grows as he withers away.Excerpt:“He is notfine.” The captain heard, almost too quiet, and she looked at Rukia. Sympathy was brimming inside her at the look in the raven’s face as she stood beside the lieutenant’s bed, small fingers caressing what once was bright vermillion, trailing down to the bloodied white robe. They would need to change it.“And he will never be fine.” With that she left, unshed tears wiped away harshly as she fled from the imminent reality.**Please readVibrant Display of a Fleeting Blossomfirst before reading this one for context. Thank you!
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Byakuya
Series: Fleeting Blossoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961920
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	Blossoming in Decay

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place as Renji was hospitalized.

“He’s asleep.” The door was softly closed, so as to not disturb the person inside.

“So?” the voice of a young woman, barely of age, demanded curtly at the senior medic, “what did you find?”

Unohana stifled a sigh, pushing back a stray strand of loose black hair behind her ear as she gestured for the Kuchiki to follow her. It wasn’t a matter to be discussed in such a public setting.

As they entered her office, she sat herself behind her desk, urging the younger to sit in front of her. They sat in silence—for her, because she didn’t want any part in causing the other's heartbreak, and for the younger, because she was trying her hardest to not be disrespectful of the senior officer anymore. She failed.

“Captain Unohana _, how is he_?”

The pressing voice made the senior shinigami look up from her desk, as she was contemplating on how to deliver her information to the raven without making the upset girl break down even more.

“…he’s stable,” she started slowly, weighing the benefits of sugar-coating her next words or simply be blunt about it. The raven clearly didn’t buy her opening words’ reassurance. Yet she was silent, urging Unohana to continue, knowing it wasn’t everything she found when she checked her best friend’s condition.

“Kuchiki-san, cherry blossoms are growing inside him.”

The raven frowned, “I know that, Captain.” The words came out snappy, even though she didn’t mean to. As if she could forget that little piece of information, glaring at her in the forefront of her mind constantly.

Unohana Retsu let out the sigh she had been resisting, even going so far as to rest her head on her hand against the desk, massaging her temples. It was already past lunchtime, and she knew the young Kuchiki hadn’t even eaten anything, having been in the medical ward of the Fourth Division all morning. And not sleeping too, from the dark shadows under her unusually dim violet eyes.

Kuchiki Rukia, for her part, almost felt sorry for the captain. She could see that the older woman had been busy tending to Renji amongst her other duties. But she squashed down the sympathy, along with the hunger and need to rest her eyes as she had been fighting for the last few days, and sent Unohana the most hardened look she could muster that said ‘you’re going to tell me everything and not a word _less_.’

“I didn’t mean the symptoms,” Unohana continued, “the petals he had been coughing are simply a part of the early stages in Hanahaki. In the past week, whole blossoms had come out from his lungs; that is a part of the next stage. And then the stalk that tore his larynx came next…”

She trailed off, letting the raven came to her own conclusion, as she watched realization and horror fought their battle in her expression.

“A cherry blossom tree…” Rukia whisperer, looking at Unohana in disbelief, “a _tree_ is growing inside him?”

“A sapling,” Unohana offered softly as if it was of any consolation. She would have cringed if she wasn’t such an experienced medic. Still, it was only her third case of Hanahaki—the disease was exceedingly rare.

“But it will continue to grow.”

Rukia looked up. “Can’t we remove it?” A shred of hope.

Unohana shook her head. “It’s not a tumor, Kuchiki-san. It won’t stop growing or sprouting back just because we remove it.” –only to be dashed in the next moment.

She didn’t want to give false hopes to the young Kuchiki.

“So it will keep growing no matter what... until it finally kills him,” Rukia concluded listlessly, voice pained like it was her own life that was the one being slowly taken away.

The silence that took over next was grim and depressing. Clouds seemed to accumulate around the young Kuchiki as she bowed her head, her hands clenched together in her lap and she fought her hardest to not let the tears tumbled down her stinging eyes. Unohana didn’t need to see her expression, the barely shaking shoulders were proving enough that the girl was trying to not fall apart in front of her.

The young Kuchiki stood up from her seat, thanking the captain for her time and effort as she walked out of the office, not noticing the worried look that the Fourth Division captain threw at her retreating form.

Rukia contemplated going back to her barracks and actually do something productive rather than mope about something she couldn’t help. She even thought about every tasks she had for the day—she needed to read and approve a stack of proposals regarding the recruitment procedures, revise a draft of the newest office policies and deliver the finished work to be signed by her captain and then the Captain Commander, tending to her captain’s own frail health…

But she couldn’t just yet.

Without her noticing, her feet took her back to where she came from. The hallway was quiet, a sparse number of officers and nurses milled the area, as it was a private wing. The wooden door loomed before her, inconspicuous if not for the person lying inside. Her hand touched the handle, hesitant, but she shook her head and opened the door.

* * *

Abarai Renji squinted as he opened his eyes blearily, the diffused light coming from a curtained window showed him that it was around midday. He grunted, covering his eyes with one arm, finding the simple movement taxing. And when his forearm rested against his closed eyes, the slightest pressure made his head throb. He felt like an utter piece of dog crap.

He took his time, slowly getting back his bearings, noting that his bed was kept at an angle that allowed him a slightly seated position, and looked around the dimly lit room. The lights were turned off, but he could see the bouquets of flowers sitting at a small table next to his bed, several well-wishes letters from other officers, and a book that Hisagi Shuuhei left for him to read—a strange fable about a boy born from a giant peach.

He struggled to reach the book with his weak arm, but he succeeded after a couple of tries, though he dropped the book on his chest when his uncooperative muscles slackened, and it slipped from his helpless fingers. The simple accident took the breath from his lungs and he was left gasping, it felt as if he dropped a thick tome on his chest rather than a thin, softcover book that Hisagi found in his ventures in the Material World.

A groan stopped midway, turned into a wet sounding cough that lasted for several long moments. He put his free hand on his neck, softly massaging his tender throat until something came out to his mouth with a ‘pop’. He whimpered quietly, only coming out as raspy gasps and exhales, and open his sore jaw to pluck two bloodied blossoms along with a long tendril of soft stalk dripping in red.

He stared at the flowers in his hand blankly, watching the slick of his saliva and other bodily fluid glossed over the petals, swirling along with a dark liquid he knew was his blood that came from the torn, tender lining of his throat and his still wounded larynx. It would never heal if he kept coughing up the flowers—and the stalks.

He didn’t realize in time, in his state of thoughtlessness, that the red fluid was dripping down his hand and splattered on the book, before seeping into the paperback cover. He hastily threw the flowers somewhere down the floor and wiped his hand on his robe—it was white, and he almost felt sorry for staining it—before inspecting if the blood stained the inside of the book or not. Not seeing any tissue paper nearby, he used the end of his sleeve to try and dab away the still wet patch of blood on the cover, being careful not to smear it even more. He sighed at his handwork—at least Hisagi gave the book to him, and not just lending it.

He flipped open the pages, looking at the colorful illustrations with mirth in his eyes. One of the first pictures showed an old woman kneeling by a riverbed, with a gigantic peach in front of her, her expression was that of a comical surprise. He flipped the page, barely reading the short texts on the other side of the page, and the illustration showed when the old woman was back at her home, with her husband by her side and they cut open the peach to find a baby inside.

Somehow the picture of a baby inside the giant peach captured Renji inexplicably. He trailed a finger on the imagery of the plump, smiling babe sitting in the middle of a perfectly split peach, too late in noticing that it was the same finger that held the bloodied petals only to be hastily wiped on his robe. His eyes widened as he watched the red smearing down the page from his stained finger, right in the middle of the picture of the baby.

His breath fell short and the book was released from his hand, tumbling down his lap and slapping noisily on the floor. His eyes flickered and his entire body trembled. He let out a whimper, but what came out of his mouth was a raspy gasp instead.

He cried but no sound escaped him, only managing to make his lungs constrict and wait as the feeling of suffocation took over him. His thin shoulders shook violently with each jolt of his gasped breath, his weakened ribs ached with each sharp intake. His throat was slowly killing him, the burning pain that couldn’t be healed kept the tears flowing down his stinging eyes. He was only thankful that no blossoms were forcing their way out of him again.

He thought he heard the door to his room was being opened, but no one came in. It was closed immediately after, and he heard loud footsteps—someone was running? —growing weaker and weaker until it was silent once more. He thought he felt a familiar _reiatsu,_ but he was too weakened, and he couldn’t care enough as he sat there and cry in self-pity and pain.

His tears stopped after a while, and his short of breath dissipated as he calmed himself. He eyed the book lying on the floor, knowing that he would have to wait for someone to come and get it for him. He couldn’t even move his legs without his bones creaking in protest. He smiled wryly at himself.

He couldn’t help but drawing an opposing parallel between himself and the story from the book. The peach brought the life of a baby to a blessed old couple, growing up to be the hero of his village as he vanquished the giants that terrorized them for so long. And here Renji was, being slowly killed by beautiful blossoms growing inside him, having achieved nothing he strived for, and everything he struggled to have had been taken away from him. Having someone else being the sole reason for his misery, yet unable to hate the person even when he was coughing up bloodied flowers from his throat.

Simply because he loved him, so much so that the petals and blossoms persisted in his lungs, creating their garden of death inside him as he decayed.

He envied Momotaro for being born to be loved, while he was dying because of it.

He had no more tears to shed.

* * *

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he did.

When his sister exited the office in her hurry, his concealed presence beside the door, going unnoticed as she strode away, he didn’t expect Unohana Retsu to follow her out and tilted her head in greeting. As if she knew that he was there all along. He clenched his fists reflexively, only hidden from her observant gaze by the folds of his _haori_.

“Captain Kuchiki,” Unohana said softly, knowing that the man had overheard of the conversation she had with his adoptive sister.

In the more than two weeks following Abarai’s admittance to his private ward, the older Kuchiki had only visited him exactly once—and that was a week ago. She didn’t know what had happened in his last visit, but she saw him leaving in a flurry, his _reiatsu_ was oddly dull and tumultuous even though his expression betrayed nothing.

“Are you visiting the lieutenant?” she tried to ask, but before she even finished her question the other captain turned without so much of a word and flash-stepped away.

He came and left unannounced, and he didn’t even spare a moment to look at her in the eye, didn’t let his carefully constructed walls and tightly controlled mask slip when he heard what Unohana Retsu and his sister were discussing, what Rukia had concluded—what he himself tried to deny was real, and not a figment of his imagination.

.

When he reached his estate, ignoring his servants on his way and slammed the doors to his private room shut, he finally stilled himself.

Only then did he realize he was breathing hard, and his chest heaved from the exertion, his heart beating frantically, and the sound deafened his eardrums. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, he noted to himself numbly and tried to regulate his breathing when he became aware of the fact. It was shameful for a man of his standing to succumb to something as mortal as a panic attack, but he did. How could he not?

_He is dying because of me._

He belatedly realized the shoji screens to his private garden was open, calm breeze entering the room and caressed his haggard form. Flower petals scattered on his futon and the tatami, as if they came from the trees outside. It wasn’t flowering season.

He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise, approaching the stray petals. If he didn’t know better, he would think that they were simply fallen leaves, as it was autumn. But they were not leaves, they were small and delicate, already dried out and dull from the weather. He picked a petal, kneeling on the ground—they were at least two weeks old.

Renji spent the night with him, the day before the joint training. Before...

He clenched his jaws, clawing the dried flowers on the floor, and bowed down until his forehead touched the tatami. His fingers were crushing the petals, his bitten nails sinking into his flesh and his teeth bit into his lips. He slammed his fist to the ground so hard that his knuckles bruised, and the skin was torn.

The sting grounded him. Made him see clearer.

_“Say my name,” he said, labored breaths and euphoric bliss._

_“...Byakuya,” soft, loving, and_ pained _. A hand, paler than its usual healthy tan, but he remembered a similarly warm one from half a century ago, caressing his cheeks and running through his damp hair._

_The warmth faded, weakened body moving away. Violent coughs were duly suppressed, and he dared not look. Cherry blossom scent waft and tease at his sensitive nose, almost cloying and dreadful for its mingle with fresh blood._

_He pretended. He closed his eyes still._

The signs he chose not to see.

He told himself that even if he knew, even if he knew from the start who it was, there was nothing he could’ve done. It was not as simple as _saying_ it, not as simple as a white lie to save his life.

He couldn’t reciprocate on a feeling he didn’t have.

“Nii-sama.”

A lone tear ran down his cheek before he could stop it, the small hand on his shoulder almost entirely too alien, too foreign and unacceptably not _him_ that he nearly wrenched his person away.

“Rukia,” slow and steady, avoiding disgraceful hiccups and stutters. Controlled breathing.

“Did you do this?”

She knew what he meant. He hadn’t been home after Renji was hospitalized, but she knew he would come back eventually. Her hand on his shoulder was not one of sympathy, nor was it one of comfort.

_“Don’t clean up these petals,” she said to the servants, “not until he returns.”_

It was cold and merciless.

“Yes.”

How cruel of her.

There was a sense of satisfaction seeing how defeated her brother was, though it could never heal her own pains. Could never compensate for what they knew would come. But it was only fair.

_Renji is dying because of him._

It was useless to play the game of accusations, to bring him down to her misery because she knew that Byakuya was already as miserable as her. From the glimpses of him she saw on the streets of Seireitei, how he followed the path to the Fourth Division, but only lingered around corners before disappearing altogether. How he wouldn’t notice her following him, or anyone for that matter, despite his reputed high alertness.

The constant blankness of his expression that threw his previous indifference to her to the bins. A hollow shell.

She refused to believe it. Refused to believe that in all the misery that surrounded him, in the cold hard shell he had become, that there was no glimmer of hope that it was because of his love for Renji. Yet even in her desperation, she knew she couldn’t force him to love.

Couldn’t make him reciprocate on a feeling he didn’t have.

If only he’d let himself.

She left him alone, not so much as uttering another word, and left to her own room. Feeling guilty and helpless, as she found herself constantly in recent times.

Because she was running away from her fears too.

_The sliver of opening on the room brought her an almost overpowering scent of blossoms. But the strained gasps and coughs and the almost too violent rattles of the metal frame of a bed pulled her out of her head. She opened the door and—_

_Splatters of red on white, stark and cold and cruel in their contrast. Strands of dull vermillion hiding behind what must be a pallid, hollowed face, breathless sobbing that constricted her own lungs in a too-tight grip. Pale, bloodied blossoms scattered on the sheets and on the floor, a small book stained with his blood._

_He was crying, struggling to, his breath short and a silent scream was a gaping maw of bloodied lips and anguished face._

_She didn’t dare intrude on his vulnerability._

_She didn’t dare approach to cement the inescapable truth._

_She didn’t dare look anymore._

_She left faster than she came._

Coward.

Tears ran down her eyes freely and she bit her lips, frustrated with herself. She cried into her hands in shame, knowing how much she didn’t deserve such luxury. 

* * *

“—captain yelled at us to take care of it but he just bailed on me! You bastard,” Yumichika snarled, elbowing Ikkaku on his ribs none too gently.

“The captain was using me as a punching bag, you rainbow maggot!” Ikkaku’s resulting shout of outrage was louder, his hands clenching tightly on the other’s uniform collars.

“Take that back, pachinko ball!”

“I will take you to the back and kick your scrawny ass!”

“Guys!” Rangiku’s resultant shout and a fist on each of their head seemed to knock them out of their little worlds, though Shuuhei uncontrollable guffaws were not the least bit helpful to suffuse their anger.

The blonde narrowed her eyes and slapped the tattooed man’s head, earning a disgruntled noise before he backed down. Stuttered breaths and gasps were heard in the following silence, and they found that it came from the bed.

Renji’s eyes were crinkled in what could not be described as anything but amusement, his pale lips stretched into a wide, toothy smile and his shoulders shook in the force of his laugh. He threw his head back, and even though he made no effort to control himself, no sound came out.

Nothing but gasped breaths and sharp exhales, uncharacteristic of his usual boisterous laughter.

They smiled at him, sobering up. Reminded of the circumstances they avoided thinking.

A pad of paper was thrust up Yumichika’s face, currently standing by Renji’s bedside, and he blinked at the words.

‘And what did you do after?’ it said. Renji’s eyes were full of mirthful inquisitiveness, and for a moment he thought, perhaps, Renji was recovering.

“Well you know damn well that I was left with no choice but to pick up all those trash myself, Renji,” he harrumphed, still miffed that he was always the one to pick up after all the man-children of the Eleventh, even for community service that should have been a division-wide activity. Of course they would all rather fight than clean up the streets.

“Not true, Yumichika,” Rangiku interjected, a knowing glint in her smile, “I saw some of your new recruits doing all the work when you were eating _dango_!”

“I saw him going into a beauty salon,” Shuuhei quipped, ever the Matsumoto-devotee, still hoping for his chance with her. Renji threw him a sly smirk behind Rangiku’s back, making the older shinigami flush.

“Ha! So you were lazing around too! And while the rest of us were getting beat up!”

Yumichika sputtered indignantly at the barrage of accusations that were mostly true, however, “well! I was tired and I had to take a break at some point!”

“ _Ohh ho ho_ , I'm sure there were _many_ points, Yumi!”

“Oh, you know that better than anyone, don’t you, Matsumoto?”

“Why you little—”

“I thought this was a social visit,” Shuuhei sighed as he took a seat beside Renji’s bed, watching Rangiku and Yumichika bickered, with Ikkaku egging them on. He peeked at Renji, seeing the redhead still shaking in his silent laughter, relieved. At least they were entertaining him, though Captain Unohana might come sooner than later if they kept their loud volume.

Kira would’ve come with them, but he was accompanying Momo on her own routine visit. After her delicate situation in the aftermath of Aizen, she suffered mild relapses of all the manipulation he had put her through. They had to constantly monitor her psyche if she wanted to be declared fit for duty. She agreed, having nowhere else to call home.

They would join them later, Shuuhei suspected as he looked at the clock Renji insisted on having on his bedside table, maybe within the hour.

He shook his head at his friends’ antics, Ikkaku was now in Rangiku’s infamous headlock while her hair was pulled rather taut by Yumichika, her other hand pulling on his shorter one while he shoved his foot up Ikkaku’s face. A rather bizarre position, to be sure, but the amused gasps and exhales from Renji signified that they were still being entertaining enough, as long as they weren’t doing any damage to the room.

A loud, painful thud was heard along with a sharp crack that pierced through all of their skulls made him realized that Renji wasn’t laughing.

No sound was heard in the room as eyes grew wide, then—

“Renji!” they all shouted, immediately moving to where his prone body fell. Horror, shame, fear, and nausea mixed together when they turned the redhead to his back, his eyes shut closed, his shoulder at an awkward angle, the bone protruding where it wasn’t supposed to be, and—

Those blasted, bloodied blossoms. Thin stalks, bloodied and covered in petals and whole flowers drenched the front of his kimono.

“Call for help!” Rangiku screamed, her voice hoarse, uncaring for the tears streaming down her eyes. She shoved Shuuhei towards the door and he obeyed silently, unable to process what had occurred.

When he came back, the rest of them had put Renji on his bed, something about the grim looks on their faces as they were unable to tear their eyes away from the redhead even for one second, made him feel worse than he already did.

.

Kuchiki Rukia was shouting, her small frame vibrating in rage as she flailed about the room, throwing accusing fingers at the four of them as Captain Unohana was checking over their friend’s condition.

In any other circumstances, they would have retaliated, defend their actions, and assert their seniority over hers. But at that moment, heads hung down and shoulders slumped in what looked like nothing but shame and sorrow.

“There are four of you! Four sets of eyes that should have been watching over him! How could you let this happen?!” the girl screamed, clutching at the front of Ikkaku’s uniform, his eyes unable to meet her blazing violets.

“Kuchiki-san!” Unohana’s sharp voice was filled with warning, standing up straight from her position beside Renji. She pulled up the rails on either side of the bed to prevent a repeat occurrence and patted her _haori_ from invisible dust.

“If they were not here, we wouldn’t know about this until it was too late.”

Rukia swallowed down her childish comeback, her fists clenched too-tightly at her side. She knew that.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be frustrated at the helplessness she felt. The shock when Hisagi Shuuhei ran down the hallway, shouting for help with glassiness in his eyes and fear ever-present. She thought the worst thing had happened.

“His shoulder was dislocated and there are some bruising on his side, but other than that he is fine,” Unohana said finally, suppressing a well-deserved sigh from the panic attack she nearly had.

She ushered everyone out of the room, bowed heads shuffling silently. She hoped this wouldn’t discourage them from visiting the redhead again, he needed more than just the young Kuchiki’s forlorn company, given the lack of presence from his own captain.

“He is not _fine_.” The captain heard, almost too quiet, and she looked at Rukia. Sympathy was brimming inside her at the look in the raven’s face as she stood beside the lieutenant’s bed, small fingers caressing what once was bright vermillion, trailing down to the bloodied white robe. They would need to change it.

“And he will never be fine.” With that she left, unshed tears wiped away harshly as she fled from the imminent reality.

* * *

He suspected something happened before, which made his friends all look like they were walking on eggshells around him. Rukia was always there, watching but never saying anything to them. Renji tried to invite her into the conversation, tapping at his writing pad furiously to get her attention as no one seemed to dare to speak to her—which was an oddity on its own—but she only sighed and said that she wasn’t in the mood.

Yet she never left.

He begged her to go and rest, eat something, and even to take a shower, but she always ignored it. She had officers bringing her food and her work to her, refusing any calls for missions even though she knew would be severely reprimanded if it continued.

He teased her, writing to her that she smelled bad and that no one would want to go near her if she kept on her so-called watch over him without leaving to take care of her body odor.

He raged at her, slamming his writing pad down the floor and looking at her in frustration, throwing all the flowers and gifts he received at her so she would go away and leave him to his own privacy.

She stayed on undisturbed, even amidst his coughing fits, blood and blossoms swiftly removed from his person and returned back to her place against the wall, her face never showing any hint of her warring emotions. Renji wouldn’t understand.

Every second of his life was all that she had left of him.

.

Unohana couldn’t let the matter slide any longer. The way the young raven was slumped on her wall, yet still managing to stand resolute was concerning. Her fair complexion was paler than the one she was watching, her dark circles a permanent addition to her face. What was left of her uniform was her inner robe and hakama, already dirty and damp with her bodily fluids. The room rank of her smell, after the never-ending days she stood to watch over Abarai, only sparing short minutes to take care of her most basic necessities. Neither of their friends dared to approach the room in the last few days.

The redhead looked exhausted, staring at Unohana pleadingly. She exhaled and shook her head, feeling like a caretaker of a child instead of a healer and shinigami captain.

“You will get yourself sick from the fatigue, Kuchiki-san. And if you are sick, do you think you can watch over Abarai-san?”

The silence was expected, as was the tired glare thrown her way behind curtains of greasy dark locks. There was a minute spike in her _reiatsu_ , a warning, not big enough that it would affect Renji’s current condition. At least she was not delirious, the captain thought.

She approached the Kuchiki slowly, getting close enough that whatever she said would not be heard by her redhaired patient.

“Kuchiki-san, listen to me very carefully. Abarai-san’s condition is critical, yes. And the slightest mistake might cost him,” she whispered lowly into the other’s ear, the raven’s stiffening figure a sign that she was listening _very carefully_.

“ _You_ ,” Unohana hissed uncharacteristically, “are a _risk_ by staying here in your unstable condition. Your _reiatsu_ is dank and heavy, as much as your presence is right now. You are losing your control over it, and it will _end him_ if you continue risking his life with your selfishness as you are doing right now.”

The look in the younger’s face was something she wished she didn’t put there herself. Unohana hated to resort to such cheap tricks, to use Abarai’s condition against the vulnerable girl, but the way she was going right now was not healthy for both of them. Sometimes heavy-handedness was necessary, no matter how painful it was.

She pulled back, schooling her expression calmly. “Go get some rest. And only come back tomorrow, _the earliest_.” The Kuchiki complied without a word, fleeing from the room as quickly as she was able in her weak condition.

.

Renji sighed, feeling bad for making the captain take the matter into her own hands as if she didn’t have a lot on her plate already.

‘Thank you’ he wrote as the older woman was doing her routine check-up on him after Rukia left with Lieutenant Kotetsu accompanying her outside the door.

She smiled at him, dragging her _kaido_ glowing hands up towards his chest, trying to restore at least some part of his diminishing _reiatsu_. His core was flickering, weak but very much alive as she continuously tried to sustain him for as long as she could. The sapling inside him was slowly yet steadily growing, taking roots inside his lungs, filled with foreign energy that was slowly poisoning his system.

Another factor of concern.

“We are done for the moment, Abarai-san. I will be coming back this evening,” she said after attaching his ‘lunch’ to the gastric tube, “please use the bell whenever you need to. Have a good day.”

He nodded and waved at the retreating medic, sighing in relief at finally being left to his own devices.

* * *

Everyone that he knew of personally had been there at least three times, some more frequent than others. Bringing gifts and flowers, coming in groups that served nothing but to amuse and entertain in the dull room.

He watched them going in and out of the Fourth building, out in some corner, inconspicuous enough to not attract attention to himself, and walked away.

Out of everyone, he could testify for himself that he spent the most time frequenting the vicinity of the Fourth barracks.

And out of everyone, he was the only one who couldn’t bring himself to enter.

_Coward._

“Coward!” Kurosaki Ichigo slammed him against his office wall, the force reverberating throughout the room and onto the open door where several shinigami were watching, helpless to do anything when their captain was up against the man who saved Soul Society.

“He’s _dying_ ,” Ichigo anguished, his hands tight against Byakuya’s _haori_ , scrunching and tearing at the material with the force of his grip.

“What can I do?” he whispered weakly; his voice defeated. This was not Kuchiki Byakuya.

The substitute shinigami let him go as if electrocuted, and looked at the raven as he slumped down on the floor, his bowed head between his knees. It was surreal, a nightmare really, to see a proud man falling apart on his feet, unable to hold himself together. Pity was on the tip of his tongue, but he pushed it down. It would be too painful. Too real.

“Tell him what you _feel_ ,” he said instead, softly, his anger and frustration leaving him before he too, left.

Byakuya remained where he was, almost grateful that the human managed to close the door to leave him in his own privacy, out of prying eyes.

It was not the first time someone said that to him.

Rukia was the first one, begging him after she found out that Renji was put under the emergency wing weeks ago. Then the rest of his friends, coming to him one by one, telling him to _do something_ , to _say something_ and he was angry that he _didn’t know what they wanted from him_.

And now Kurosaki Ichigo, someone he had begrudgingly respected, told him the same thing.

He covered his face with his arms, still as a rock, his duty forgotten for the time being.

* * *

The hallway was long, longer than he anticipated, longer than he remembered. The pristine, clinical walls were cold, the floor emitting _tap tap tap_ sounds of his sandals as he hastened his steps. He was alone, no one bothered him, no one dared to, as he made his way to his destination.

‘Tell him what you feel.’

 _I care for him,_ he thought absently, repeatedly, pleadingly.

_I wish him health and a long, happy life._

He found the room, closed and foreboding, at the end of the hall. His mind was fuzzy, his fingers trembling along with his arms. His steps stuttered, and his heartbeat quickened.

_I want his company for all the years to come._

He stopped two steps before the wooden door, breathless, as though having run a marathon one thousand times over. Distracted, thoughts jumbled and movement hesitant as he reached for the knob. One thing screamed at the forefront.

_I—_

.

_“I love you,” soft, beloved and near. An effervescent dream, fleeting, and sweet. His long-lost love, gracing his subconscious with her presence._

_She took him in her embrace, cradling him against her frail bosom, whispering sweet words filled with affection and longing, pining, pain—_

_Long hair tangling against his own, silk to the touch, and as beautifully brilliant, gleaming like fire as its owner was._

_He whispered in his dream to warm ears, words he couldn’t hear, couldn’t remember, but know deep in his heart._

_“...”_

_._

Renji slept through the day, the wind was gentle, grateful that he requested for the window to be opened that sunny day. It was the middle of autumn, the weather cooling down and the leaves turning yellow and red, vibrant as the color his hair used to be.

Rukia and Ichigo visited that morning, and he was only glad that the boy managed to make her look after herself. Ichigo teased him, saying that he looked like a mess. Rukia whacked the boy on his head, and Renji laughed, writing that it served him right to be such a jerk so early in the morning. Lightheartedness came back to Rukia, and he was thankful to Ichigo for his support. He made sure to tell him so after they were about to leave, his eyes telling a thousand words his writings couldn’t.

'Get better sooner so I can kick your ass' was the response, and he chuckled breathily as the two made their way out, leaving him to his own devices again.

 _Get better huh,_ he thought sardonically, shaking his head.

He leaned back against his pillow a little too soon, air escaping his lungs.

Another coughing fit took over him, another bout of cherry blossoms escaped his weary lungs and torn throat. He coughed until petals and blossoms flew about the bed, fluttering and dancing along with the autumn leaves entering the room with a gust of wind. The light, spring scent clouded his nose with each one of the crushed petals that exited his mouth.

He laughed, unable to find himself to be sad, his tears were all dried up. All that was left was acceptance, even as a sharp, deeply seated ache clutched at his weakly beating heart, pulling him down to his dreams.

.

_He dreamt of light and warmth. The love he gave, and the love he received. He dreamt of a broad back, bloodied from battle, yet strong and resolute. A man he would follow wherever the path took. He dreamt of grey orbs, dark, but warm with affection, warm with fondness._

_He dreamt of another life, two but singular, painful but complete, broken but strong. Apart, but belonged._

_“Wait for me,”_ he _said. A vow, a promise within dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. Hands entangled, faces touching and warm breaths mingling._

A familiar _reiatsu_ was near, frantic, dark and tumultuous. In his dreams, he could feel it against his own, teeming with life, together.

And in his dreams, so close before him, he shut his eyes with a smile, knowing the last person he felt was the one that took his heart.

_“I will.”_

* * *

\- end -

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this. There will be more to come, hopefully. I'm planning on making a series of snapshots surrounding the events in and after the first story. If you're into torturing yourself with angst of course lol


End file.
